


Prohibition in Curls

by 2014banana



Category: Frozen (2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, Alternate Universe - Gangsters, F/M, Flapper Girls
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2018-12-25 16:56:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 20,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12040227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2014banana/pseuds/2014banana
Summary: So sweet eighteen-year-old Anna Arendelle lives the life of a flapper girl - frivolous, dizzy, in the moment. Being the spare heir to the Arendelle fortune has its perks. Money, clothes, vacations...that is until she unwittingly sets of a chain of events with a dandy of a fella one night, trapping her sister and a devil. Flapper Girl/Gangster AU!





	1. Chapter 1

Life is short. Embrace the moment - live in it. You never know what tomorrow may hold.

Anna's eyes catch the scene, opulent. Beautiful. This is what a party is like. Flapper girls clap and twirl around, airy and carefree. Criticized as the social-butterfly type...frivolous, scantily-clad, jazzing, irresponsible and undisciplined to whom a dance, a new hat, or a man with a car, are of more importance than the fate of nations.

Anna loves that description. Especially when uttered by her antiquated, prude of a big sister who needs to loosen up and just let it go...because despite outward appearances, Anna is no dumb Dora. Really.

Anna's skin glistens under the lamps from the sheen of perspiration, which is fine. Dancing does that to a gal. Her hand flutters over her finger curls - good. Still intact. Her hairdresser bleached the red to a real pretty blonde today. She's ditched the ginger to be a bombshell of a blonde. Papa is gonna kill her. Anna really can't care at the moment. That's tomorrow's problem.

Anna absently pulls at the beaded dress now clinging to her form, attempting to find relief as the horns from the jazz band blare. They're a real good band. Lots of energy. She beams a grin at the stranger before her, tall and fair, who's been her dance partner for hours now. She'd taken to referring to him as the sheik.

He's said he was the youngest of thirteen. His best friend's name is John, or something like that. Favorite food - sandwiches. Eye color - dreamy. She thinks. Doesn't really matter. They have a connection - like, true love. Or something.

"You're amazing. I hate to ship-off tomorrow, leaving you. It's like true love." The fella pulls her closer, and Anna laughs. It's like he's reading her mind. "What's your _real_ name, doll?"

She ducks her chin, because _uh oh_. She's not supposed to be here, at this club - papa would kill her.

"Elsa," Anna breathes, giving her sister's name easily. Because this is what she does, all wet. Elsa never cares. She's the perfect girl. "Elsa Arendelle." Anna lifts her eyes to his.

He has nice eyes. Like fresh grass. She'll readily admit that the swill she's been drinking for hours doesn't help her gauge others well, but something like excitement lightens his features. "Beautiful. Just like you, Elsa."

Anna laughs again, at herself and the heady thrill of having someone so foolish as to believe even her clumsy attempt at deception. "Yeah? What's yours, sheik?"

"Westergaard." He breathes, planting a kiss to her lips. Her thoughts stop - her first real kiss and it's from some fella who knows her as Elsa. She's never really been necking before, so she's clumsy. It feels forced. But this fella is deploying aboard a ship in a few hours, cursed to the Atlantic, so it doesn't really matter, does it? "Hans Westergaard."

Anna can feel the blush burning up her cheeks as he pulls back, watching her. He wraps her hand in his, tugging her along and out of the club. The rush of cool air from the street is on her skin. Its crisp. Goosebumps erupt across her arms as Hans halts them under the light of a gas lamp on the concrete. He presses her against his car, something hooks low in her belly.

"Can I say something crazy?" Hans studies her, searching for secrets and Anna fears her ruse is up.

"I love crazy." Anna giggles, committed to the bit. She's not backing out now.

"Will you marry me?"

 _Oh_.

She must stare a beat too long because Hans pulls her close, burying her in his chest, "Please, Elsa. I. I ship-off at dawn. Let me leave to serve my tour with some sort of wild dream to cling to?"

Anna steps back, his hand in hers. He drops to his knee.

"Can I say something even crazier?" Anna decides that she really has had too much gin. She'll later call it her civic duty. " _Yes_."

It's fine. Elsa won't know. As sick as it is, she'll never see Hans Westergaard again. So it really doesn't matter.

She can't help but feel a little frozen inside.

 


	2. Chapter 2

There is a certain sense of fundamental decencies parceled out unequally at birth. Hans knows this for fact, not only for being part of the nouveau riche with wealth born from greed and corruption thus missing these, but also being the youngest of thirteen in such a world. Finding the spark, the inspiration of morales (to once again listen to that little voice inside, that is), had been impossible. Until her.

_Elsa Arendelle._

It had been a chance encounter, years earlier as Elsa was entering her first year of law and he was graduating. What that women thought she'd prove entering so blatantly into the male world of law and politics, he still doesn't understand. But a brilliantly quarreled debate in a lecture hall - the look, the passion in her blue eyes - he was cursed to dream of for years to come. The promise of what was beneath, the magic of her. Something powerful, dangerous, cold. A magic he's certain can be controlled. Control the magic - one day rule her fortune by her side. She's preferable, the crown heir so to speak. But no one was getting anywhere with her.

He's no fool. He's patient, knows the game. He'd find his way in and to her, eventually. So he lays in wait, even years later.

Hans was certain his excitement and surprise at the name offered him by some dumb Dora in the ritzy speakeasy of a club of his, is written plainly across his face. There is a striking resemblance - as there should be given who she really is. The beauty, the young little blonde couldn't possibly know. Know his obsession with the real Elsa Arendelle. Couldn't know that the fraud of her offered identity was so easily seen by him (the eyes - the eyes are all _wrong_...Elsa's are blue and cold like a winter's sky, not warm blue like southern waters). But he'd talked to his bodyguard who'd confirmed her arrival earlier with friends - and caught a name thrown around carelessly by her entourage as drinks went on. Anna. Anna Arendelle.

(The spare.)

He smiled, sharp - plans quickly calculating only to be discarded. He would not loose this chance. So desperate for love, willing to marry just like that. This Elsa Arendelle - never faltering in her lie. Hans almost asked Anna why.

Hans now stares at the marriage certificate in his hands - his name printed neatly beside that of Elsa Arendelle. Signed with a flourish beside hers (penned in Anna's hand) with a signature of a (corrupt and well paid) judge beneath. Undeniable. Official. He tucks it away in the vault, now the most valuable thing he owns, and grabs his sea-bag from the marbled floor. Liberty is almost over - he has to get back to the ship.

It hadn't all been a lie - his tale to Anna. And this doesn't change the underlying sense of servitude he now feels when it comes to his country - the efforts of war. He's going to do his part, underworld life of crime be damned (his family can't understand this is more than just finding new ways to bribe and corrupt those with power in the military). Hans has become a naval officer for him - for her.

But Hans Westergaard is going to legitimize his claim - come back, back to his wife. Elsa Westergaard is going to kill him for his absolutely egregious act. But he's certain it'll be highly pleasurable.

He should write to her.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Elsa stares unfocused at a point on the wall just to left of Papa's ear. He's droning on again, presenting what Elsa feels are non-existent reasons why she isn't practicing law for the company. Why he won't create opportunity for her elsewhere. Nothing has changed - it's like she's cursed. All these years, all her eduction. Doors are shut, windows closed. All contact with the outside world of politics, law, and industry that she craves, restricted.

(All while Anna flies free in her world of, frankly, debauchery. Enjoying what she totes as the liberated woman's life. Thank you, suffrage movement. Life of a flapper, yes. Equal reception to the legal or political arena, no.)

"Elsa, I love you too much to loose you to what is out there - the underhanded, illicit...frankly evil world. There is no need to get twisted-up in all that. Just let me keep you safe." Papa sounds as if he has to handle her with kidskin gloves. Or like he speaks to an idiot. She graduated top of her class. She's no dummy.

"Safe." Elsa echoes, hollow. She drops her armful of ledgers and tax code books atop his desk, knocking over the silver picture frame holding her portrait. The one taken when she graduated from law school. The glass is now shattered shards skittering in the harsh silence. She can't care. "Of course. Safe."

She hates that word.

_He used that word, too._

Papa doesn't know - no one could know. No one could really know about the youngest of the Westergaard crime family. The one who didn't coddle and cosset her, wasn't afraid to fight with her. The one who liked to masquerade about, hiding who he really was. A wolf in sheep's clothing. He used that _horrible_ word.

_"I'm to keep you safe."_

_"You're to keep me prisoner," Elsa snapped. "A little wife at home - subservient, dependent? Powerless?"_

_"I simply asked for your hand in marriage, geez Elsa." Hans ran a frustrated hand through hair, eyes narrowed in a mix of something like confusion and anger as they catch the diamond ring he still holds. The one not seated proudly upon Elsa's left hand. All Elsa could see was a manacle, complete with chains to a wall. Hans continued completely unaware of her thoughts, "And who between us has the real power? Real influence? You. Elsa - you have everything. It's all at your fingertips, you just need to learn to control it."_

" _Control? That's what this is about?" Elsa blinked. New word. Just as bad. She could feel her own emotions overwhelm, knew she needed to go. "Controlling me? That's what you want." Elsa breathed a laugh in disbelief. "Your as bad as papa."_

_Hans murmured something else, something she couldn't catch that sounded suspiciously like, I only want to love you._

_Elsa ducked her head, cheeks flushed with anger and embarrassment with a hand held up to warn Hans. Her feet falling back and away, "You can't marry a man you just met."_

_Hans ignored the gesture and followed her retreat towards the door. The damn rock in his hand still. "Elsa, we hardly just met. And I support you. Being wed doesn't turn you into a submissive, subordinate..."_

_" **Hans**."_

_The man froze, then changed tack, "If I may ease your mind..."_

_"No. No you may not." Elsa could hear herself sharp, cold. She held tightly to it, "I think you should go."_

_As if Elsa conjured him from the coldness aching in her chest, her bodyguard appeared - calm assertive yet just as livid as she felt. Hans failed to cower, failed to flinch at his sudden presence. Rather, he took an assessing glance, and held fast._

_"You're wrong, Elsa. You can marry a man you've just met, if it's true love. What I hold in my heart for you, is true love."_

_Elsa huffed bitterly, "What do you know about true love? Born of the sick world of greed and corruption - disposing those who get in your way. You're as bad as the rest. Just, stay away."_

And he did. (After all, he got the icy mitt.)

Something froze inside. It hurt - _god it hurt_. Anna seemed to sense something, suspect, so Elsa had to push her away. No one could know. She's the perfect girl. Perfect girls don't fall in love with a monster, a devil with a silver tongue.

(Thus her confusion years later as his letter is now held out before her.)

It is the morning after Papa's _I'm keeping you safe_ speech. Mama sits across the table, sipping orange juice and oblivious, per usual. Morning light floods the room. Anna is quiet beside Elsa, likely hungover. Again.

Elsa steals a glance at her sister, home from college this weekend. Anna's ginger curls look perfectly intact, despite being late from oversleeping. Elsa is glad the blonde days are over.

Papa clears his throat, snapping Elsa back to him. His eyebrow is raised in intrigue, and not the good kind. The entire breakfast table is frozen, staring at the proffered envelope in Papa's hand.

"Admiral Westergaard," Papa says lowly. "What business has he with you?"

Somewhere beside her a fork clanks loudly, dropped to a china plate.


	4. Chapter 4

Anna has a fist raised to Elsa's door, staring down the wood like a threat. She should just knock. Knock already. She knows how to. A sharply held breath and a rush of courage. She knocks.

Silence.

 _Ugh_.

Anna sighs, and knocks again.

Silence.

So here's the thing: Anna loves Elsa. So much. But she has to admit, Elsa is a stick-in-the-mud. Despite this, men have always thought Elsa was the cat's meow. Preferable. Especially the powerful ones, the wet-blanket-kind-of-fella Anna steers clear of. They are always lurking about, in the wings and trying to catch Elsa's eye. When they can't, they try Anna. It's embarrassing. They should be embarrassed. Anna's embarrassed for them. So lucky for her, another fella embarrassing himself for Elsa's attention, unsolicited, is what Hans' letter is assumed to be.

The rest of breakfast wasn't too awkward - Elsa's simple, _I don't know an Admiral Westergaard_ , _so I haven't the foggiest idea of what he'd want,_ was the end of it. Mama laughed, smiled at Papa, and went back to reviewing the guest list for tonight's dinner party that Anna was just going to ditch. Papa chuckled ruefully, dropping the letter on the table and went back to his toast and tea and New York Times. Elsa went back to reading her boring stock reports. She didn't even bother to open the letter.

Anna was a little insulted, and totally blind sighted when she thought on it. If the letter came to her, Papa would go blooey. _Ab-so-lute-ly_ blooey. Hans is an admiral? What else doesn't she know about him? This is huge. She thought he was just a nobody bell bottom. A gorgeous, nobody bell bottom, but a nobody bell bottom none the less. This new development could be _problematic_.

Unfortunately Anna got distracted at breakfast by the happenings out the window - three crazy squirrels were chasing each other across a tree, which was super funny 'cause one actually fell off the branch then was yelling at the other two the entire way back up the tree, like it was their fault he fell. Because of the hilarity of small woodland creatures, she missed when Elsa left the table. That's really unfortunate because Elsa took the letter with her. And now Anna can't find her. Life would be so much easier if she were a squirrel. Or at least not as distracted as one.

In the persistent silence that follows Anna knocking on Elsa's door, she resigns herself to walk away - and not for the first time.

Elsa doesn't come to lunch. Not unusual. Elsa forgets to eat meals some days. Anna just eats with Mama, who can't stop talking about the band who'll play at the party tonight.

Anna spends part of the afternoon figuring out that the last name Westergaard should have been a red-flag. Like that snake's hair. A giant, unignorable red-flag lit up with fireworks blazing because his family is evidently notoriously corrupt, at least from what little she finds. She's embarrassed she didn't know. One of his brothers is invited to tonight's dinner party. What's up with that? Doesn't Papa know?

Anna tries knocking again on Elsa's closed door. Silence. She asks a few staff members about Elsa with no good leads regarding her whereabouts.

Hours later and the late afternoon sun starts to tint the sky a pretty palette of oranges and reds. The library has a west window perfect for enjoying a sunset like this, perfect for unwinding before heading out with the girls for the night (and little libation...accompanying refreshment to help forget what happened today - she doesn't want to be a kill-joy later). Anna makes a bee-line for her favorite nook. She halts.

 _Elsa_.

Elsa is curled up on a davenport in the back of the library and probably has been for some time by the looks of her. And she looks angry.

"Elsa?" Anna hesitates.

Elsa darts a startled glance at Anna, eyes puffy and devoid of any kohl. Elsa then pointedly stares past Anna to the sunset. She stays silent.

"Anything going on? Like, oh. I don't know, reading mail?"

"No."

Hu. That doesn't actually help Anna feel better. Anna bites her lip, certain Elsa is telling a tale. "Anything you want to talk about?"

Elsa drops her chin to look at the papers in her lap.

She's a terrible little sister. A terrible, retched little sister. She should throw herself off the edge of the nearest cliff. She should tell Elsa what she did. Now. Right now. She's ready - she was born ready. Anna takes a steadying breath.

_Elsa is gonna be so mad._

"I lied to Papa." Elsa says suddenly, quietly. Her eyes catch Anna's, "Sort of."

_Wait. What?_

Anna blinks. "Hu?"

"Westergaard. We met at law school. He thought...actually it doesn't matter what he thought."

Elsa holds out a small photograph, unframed yet carefully kept. It's a candid shot, Hans standing with Elsa wrapped in his arms. They're dressed formally. A party of some sort serves as the backdrop. They look happy. Bile crawls up Anna's throat. She's gonna be sick because Hans knew. That bastard knew she was lying to him the whole time and he let her.

Elsa's laugh is bitter yet fond at the edges, "He only wanted to become a lawyer so he could know how to twist the law as he saw fit."

"Oh." Anna holds her breath, the silence painful and cold.

"He asked me to marry him and I told him to stay away. I didn't know he was an Admiral now. That part wasn't actually a lie." Elsa wets her lips, her is voice hard. "It's some sort of sick joke he's playing at, this letter he wrote. It reads like a love letter from a husband to his wife."

"Elsa -," Anna can't take it, "it probably is."

Elsa watches Anna narrowly, "What would you know regarding such matters?"

Anna confesses, the world freezes, and Elsa runs.


	5. Chapter 5

 

"Admiral?" The disembodied voice from the squawk box atop Hans' office desk shatters the silence, "Your wife is here to see you."

Along with the leap of Hans' heart at the words 'your wife' is the leap of the blade he'd been sliding across his jaw, shaving in the tiny attached lavatory. It draws crimson, and a curse at the pain. Despite this Hans grins at his reflection, dropping the razor in favor of the towel at the basin. The nick isn't bad. He strides back into his private office holding pressure and flips the switch on the intercom. It's shameless how ridiculously pleased he is because _she's come_.

Elsa.

Like a strike of lightening he realizes it could be the _wrong_ she. Could be Anna. He prays it's Elsa. "Breathtakingly gorgeous little blonde? Platinum blonde. Big blue eyes, likely wearing a murderous expression?" Hans smirks.

"Aye sir." The disembodied voice coughs, poorly disguising a sharp laugh.

"Then by all means, show her in." Hans has time to return the towel and snatch his uniformed dress shirt off the back of the chair to put on, just as a knock is heard. His fingers fly over the buttons as something highly pleasant in his gut flutters to life, something that he hasn't felt in forever, "Enter."

As Hans begins to work his tie, the door swings wide. Ensign Olaf's toothy grin beams at Hans as he comes into Hans's office with a barrage of questions, and no Elsa. Hans frowns. "My wife?"

"Sir, the Officer of the Deck is walking her up," Ensign Olaf takes Hans's jacket off the hanger and holds it while Hans shrugs it on, lobbing rapid fire questions at his commanding officer. "How did you meet? Oh my goodness, this is so exciting! When did you get married? You don't have any pictures of her in here, do you? Is she pretty? I bet she's pretty."

Hans generally can't stand Olaf. There is just something off about the kid. Nice guy, just really odd. How he managed to commission as a Naval Officer is beyond Hans. But Hans has the most unexplainable euphoria, anticipation that Elsa is actually here, so he humors the fella, "We were recently married, quietly. Just before I oversaw the initiation of the USS Colorado's deployment. And yeah, Elsa is absolutely beautiful. Perfect."

"Yeah?" Olaf's eyes go wide, turning back towards the door with a dreamy sigh, "I bet she's the nicest, gentlest, warmest person ever!"

Hans has a caught back breath stuck in his chest as Elsa appears, dressed in coordinating shades of icy blue. Glamorous. Sophisticated. She's gorgeous even in fury. Some poor Officer stands cowering beside her who must have drawn the short straw to escorting her. Every inch of Elsa is held tight with rage. She directs her piercing gaze at Olaf and the poor guy halts, incapacitated.

"Oh, look at that." Olaf chuckles in that terribly nervous way he has, "I've been impaled."

It takes everything in Hans not to outwardly roll his eyes at these (supposed) highly trained warriors, intimidated by the angry beauty, "Dismissed."

The men scurry out quickly leaving Elsa leveling her iciest glare yet at Hans in the silence. The door pulls closed.

Hans breathes, Elsa moves. A harsh strike lands to his cheek. He can now taste rust.

"What the hell is wrong with you?!" Elsa spits venom.

Hans had already considered the conditions under which he would likely be reunited with Elsa, yet his mind is flying, calculating the odds - this was by far the most probable.

He has a plan. Baring his eyes in an act of ruthless, impulsive vulnerability - he looks back at her. There's something muddy and primitive trying to happen in his gut.

"My darling? What was that for?" He sounds like a wounded puppy as he works his jaw.

Hans manages to catch Elsa's wrist as her hand makes motion to strike him the second time. He holds tightly, capturing her other wrist in the same hand, effectively disarming her.

Elsa snarls, trying to tug free as she maintains her icy glare, "Darling?! You know damn well that I am - "

"Elsa?" Hans goes for emphatically innocent as his heart percusses in his chest. "What's going on?"

Elsa's eyes are almost feral. "You psychotic sociopath! Tricking my baby sister into marrying you under my name! Don't you play stupid with me, _HANS_."

Hans doesn't give up his act, but rather releases her wrists in favor of clutching the side of his desk, lowering himself in a stagger to be seated. His appearance is that of a man overwhelmed by such an epiphany, "What - _NO_. I. I - Elsa? We were reunited, like fate. You think I wouldn't known you, even after all these years?"

Elsa is absolutely bewildered at his behavior, and takes a stalking step closer. She still smells like jasmine and gardenias. Elsa hisses, "Drop the act."

"What act? I found you again, a guest in one of my clubs. After dancing the night away we ran off together to be wed by a judge!"

"You know I don't dance." Elsa says through clenched teeth.

"It has been a few years." Hans says flatly, because why is she arguing this fact? "I figured you finally learned how."

"I never said I _couldn't_ dance." Elsa snaps, allowing herself to be easily derailed rather than staying to the main point of the argument. Hans almost frowns at how easy that was. Does no one goad her? "I said I _don't_ dance. One implies lack of knowledge or permission, the other personal choice."

"I concede your point. But the facts of the matter are this: I married Elsa Arendelle. Before a judge, and signed by witnesses. A marriage certificate is on file."

"Yes, I saw the certificate and your witnesses didn't know either one of you. They couldn't validate the identity of you or Elsa Arendelle." Elsa says firmly. "And don't think I don't know you have that judge in your back pocket."

Hans feigns innocent surprise, "I am a victim here, as much as you are. Well, if what you say is true...that your sister fraudulently assumed your identity, entered into a contractual arrangement of marriage, and falsified legal documents, I am horrified."

Elsa cocks an eyebrow, crossing arms tight, "Hans."

His name is something exasperated. Something fond. Something that belongs on Elsa's lips. It's startlingly perfect.

They stand stock still, studying each other and the air shifts around them. Hans can feel the moment Elsa lets go of a little of her fury, a tiny piece. Something triggers her expression to soften. She opens her mouth, but fails to conjure words in her silent scrutiny. He is suddenly unsure what he's to react to, what reflection she needs to see.

"I married Elsa Arendelle. I married you." Hans says surprisingly sincerely. Like a confession, "I've only ever wanted you."

Elsa raises her chin, "I find it inconceivable that after years of unrequited love, pining for me from afar - you were so easily fooled."

"One may believe what they want to believe, rather than question reality, especially in matters of the heart." Hans says.

Surprisingly, Elsa isn't arguing how he feels about her. She acknowledges it as fact. Not at all like the last time they fought. He already feels like this is a victory, irregardless of the outcome.

Hans loses track of how long they stand in silence, and can't recall how he came to be in possession of Elsa's hand. He then realizes that he's tracing patterns to her palm, and she's not stopping him. He has this inexplicable urge to tuck her tightly to him and never let go.

The caution has faded from Elsa's eyes, and she slowly reaches out her hand to bring fingertips oh so gently to his cheekbone, brushing her thumb across the smooth skin, "Your sideburns are gone."

"Against regulations," Hans half-laughs in way of explanation. There is a heady pool of lava churning inside him, no one does this to him. Only Elsa. He wants her so desperately in his arms. Maybe he is psychotic.

Elsa finally puts an end to his willful obtuseness, stepping close enough her breath tickles his skin, and kisses him. His heart rams in his chest madly, leaving him lightheaded. She has a hand gripping his arm like he's going to escape and a hand in his hair. Her fingers are almost rough as she directs the kiss. All Hans can think is that her mouth is wet and hot and home. Hans surges into it, fire spilling in his veins. She's as breathless as him and her heart is bounding under his fingers at her neck.

She pulls back, about half an inch, and watches him. Her eyes are so dark with arousal the blue is almost obscured, her cheeks flushed. Her voice is delightfully filthy, "When you kissed your bride the night you were wed, was it like that?"

Hans is lost and unable to think, "God no. Only ever like that with you. I know you feel it, too. _Please_."

Elsa trails her lips down his jaw, pressing that hot, wet mouth along the bone as she murmurs, "No one?"

"Only you," Hans says in absolute ruin.

Elsa suddenly ducks her chin, steadying herself, "You kissed her. So you knew it wasn't me."

Hans nods.

Elsa fastidiously steps from his reach and heads towards the door. "I'm annulling the marriage and I expect your full cooperation."

 _Shit_.

Hans freezes. He lays his cards out, "If that is what you want. In exchange, I expect your full cooperation and testimony against your sister. Anna Arendelle will pay for her crimes. She's eighteen. An adult. She'll be treated as such."

Elsa spins around and glares as he adds, "The Westergaards don't like to be made fools. If the legal system can't ensure justice, there are other means."

Elsa scoffs, "You won't get away with this."

" _Oh_ ," Hans drawls, "I already have."

 


	6. Chapter 6

Someone is going to have to admit to marrying the man," Elsa says.

Anna opens her mouth, likely to say she doesn't understand why, only to snap it shut. She won't look at Elsa, rather sits on Elsa's bed distractedly picking at the beadwork of her blouse. She stays quiet.

As irrational as it is, Elsa loves Anna too much to stay angry with her about all this past the initial freeze - even though she knows she should be livid. Furious.

Instead, Hans owns all the anger Elsa has.

Elsa repositions herself, catching the flicker of sunlight reflecting off a sapphire ring. The Art Deco piece rest atop the jewelry tray on her vanity. Resplendent. A stinging ghost from when she struck Hans the other day tingles her palm, so she draws her fingers tightly to press it away. Elsa sighs, waiting for Anna to grow-up already.

Here's the thing: Papa's in Chicago this week, some deal he's trying to close with Duke Weselton. Elsa had this vague notion it would give her time to solve her _little problem_.  Her _little problem_ decided otherwise and instead proceeded to further insert himself into her life against her will.

Hans sent over the most exquisite Cartier sapphire wedding ring Elsa has ever seen the morning after she paid him a visit - all platinum and diamonds and so inexplicably _her_ that Elsa found herself thinking it would be a crime not to try it on. Problem was, she had no idea how hard it would be to take it off and so she sat for hours that night staring at the blue beauty and cursing Hans. The bastard.

A courier had arrived the following day while Mama was out with the Rotary Club with a small box of keys attached by silk ribbon to photos of what Hans had taken to referring to as _their home_ during his evening phone calls.

 _Ugh_.

He's been calling her, first thing in the morning as well as after dinner in the evening with the most asinine, mundane conversations which start with idiotic comments such as _it's so good to hear your voice,_ or _how was your day_ and end with an _I love you_ or _sweet dreams_ , dear. Never acknowledging reality, just this bizarre world that he's created.

The man is delusional.

"Elsa, I'm sorry for getting you into this mess." Anna says guiltily, snapping Elsa back to the moment. "If I had known that you had once been..." _in love with him_ , Anna doesn't say.

"Anna..." Elsa sigh, pressing fingers to her temples, hard. "I know this is the most impulsive, stupid thing you've likely ever done and I should want to murder you for it. But honestly I only want to protect you - you're the most important person to me and that's partly why we are in this mess."

"This isn't your fault. It's mine."

"No. I was scared...I never told you what was happening in my life - I just. Well. I didn't think you'd, anyone, would understand."

"Elsa, you know you don't have to protect me like that, shut me out. I love you too much."

Elsa smiles carefully. "I love you, too." Anna looks so upset, but nods. Elsa continues, "I forgive you for getting mixed up with Hans Westergaard. Just - we need to _fix_ this."

Anna finally looks at her and it's like a weight has been lifted, "Tell me what you need me to do."

 _Okay_.

"I’m certain Mama knows what’s going on, but she’s too timid to actually say anything to me until Papa gets back home Friday. Even then, there's Papa's party at the house, she won't want to ruin that. She'll wait until afterwards to talk to him." Elsa reasons, and god Elsa's so tired. She hasn't had a proper sleep in days. Entirely Hans' fault. 

"Elsa," Anna frowns, "I'll just tell Papa what I did. Please make sure my funeral is a classy one."

"Does that mean with martinis?"

"Yes. Gin," Anna cracks a brief smile, "not vodka."

* * *

 

It's Friday. Papa's home, the party in full swing. Elsa is bracing for an explosion. Metaphorically.

When the literal explosion occurs - devastating Elsa's childhood home and reducing it to flaming rubble, Papa and Mama trapped inside, she's caught off guard. More so when Hans appears from out the flames.

"I'm to keep you safe."


	7. Chapter 7

The ground shakes - actually shakes, debris flying violently. It scatters amongst the party-goers who had been enjoying dancing under the stars in a sea of colorful dresses and fine suits, faces kept obscured by masquerade masks. Before Anna could even react, register the panic and screaming which followed the deafening explosion, the fella who'd been dancing with her forces her to the ground, throwing himself over her. Shielding her.

His heart is ramming so loudly in her ear, thunderous and reassuring, his strong frame caging Anna like a cocoon. There are shouts somewhere as an eerie silence settles, then faint calls for help. Anna can't think straight, " _Oh no._ Elsa."

The fella shifts, allowing her air, brown eyes dark with concern and helps her up, "Are you hurt?" He studies her intently.

"No. I. I don't think so." Anna shakes her head, ripping off her mask as teal blue eyes dart frantically around the scene - it's too dark to see anything other than the flames from the main house. Power has been knocked out. "Elsa. Where's Elsa?"

"Your sister? I don't know. I haven't - wait..." the fella, Kristoffer she thinks, pulls off his mask and _whoa_ he's a looker, "Is that her?"

Anna cranes her head around, follows the line of Kristoffer's hand, _does not think about how how nice that hand is_ , and there's Elsa. She's safe. Elsa spots Anna in the same moment, shouting something Anna can't make out. Elsa is gesturing to the house.

"Oh - the house. It's - " Kristoffer manages. "Stay here, I'm going in to help look for injured."

"What?" Anna drags her eyes away from Elsa and realizes what Kristoffer must have said, realizes what happened. "My parents are inside!"

Kristoffer is already off, running.

Anna races toward the house, but has to stop, has to help those she finds get to safety, "Please! Kristoffer - find my parents!"

"It's Kristoff." He glances back at her, his expression grim. "And I will."

* * *

 

It's sunrise. With the break of dawn Anna realizes she's lost everything. FBI and police are combing the area, every worthless little inch of it. The party-goers are all gone. She keeps looking around, waiting for Elsa to join her on the stone bench in the garden, but Elsa hasn't come back yet. So Anna just sits in shock, staring at the smoldering scene when Kristoffer - no, Kristoff - catches her eye. He looks awful, filthy with soot and exhausted yet so handsome she momently worries what she must look like. She's certain she's blushing when he stops before her, the man walking beside him calling him Agent Bjorgman.

"Miss Arendelle, I am so sorry for your loss." Kristoff says.

She already knows her parents didn't make it out. She's trying to have courage. Really trying to. She needs Elsa. _And what?_ Kristoff is an agent?

"Ummm, thank you. I. Um - Anna is fine." Anna says numbly and then, "Agent Bjorgman?"

He nods sheepishly, bringing a hand to the back of his neck and pointedly avoiding the cocked eyebrow of the fella with him, "Yeah. FBI."

"Oh. Um, stupid question." Anna says, "Why was an FBI guy at Papa's party?"

Kristoff mutters something that sounds like, leave it alone, Sven, at the agent beside him.

"I'd prefer to talk with you in private about that, Miss Arendelle."

"Call me Anna." Wow he's dense. She did just say that, right? "And you can talk with me and Elsa about that now. Right now."

He looks startled, exchanging worried glances with the other agent, Sven, Anna guesses, "Your sister can't be found."


	8. Chapter 8

She's too brilliant - too beautiful, too full of potential to endure such pain, Hans thinks as he watches Elsa in the grey light. He hates that she's having to endure the pain of loosing her parents so violently - but that's the point the mob was trying to make. So heaven help anyone who stands in Elsa's way in her search for justice - don't cross an angel with a devil at her side.

Elsa lays with eyes closed, snuggled under the linens of the small bed in the sleeper cabin of their train car, the one they were fortunate to reserve space on prior to departure. The train car rocks and rumbles steadily over the the tracks, and as time passes it coaxes to rest.

Hans can't. Can't rest without his own answers. He needs to know how to keep his promise, the one to her father. _Keep her safe_.

Hans traces the blurred lines of Elsa's form with his eyes in the darkness of the sleeper cabin. He made it abundantly clear to Elsa he would be a perfect gentleman, respect her privacy and space despite their travel arrangements and this charade of a marriage. He can't resist laying beside her like this, though. It's too tempting, like a promise. He lays, mind retracing the night's events and trying to understand his next move. _No_. Their next move.

There was no great plot, no scheme of his in play that puts him here with her, on a train to wherever she wanted to go, that is, run away to (a rarely used Arendelle estate in a snow covered forest her destination). The North Mountain. The trip is entirely at her demand - not a hint of contingency in Hans' back pocket. Hans sighs, pushing down the unease of acting so rash and tries to _think_.

"You're thinking too loud. You're doing that strange breathing-thing." Elsa suddenly mutters. She doesn't bother to open her eyes, "I still hate when you do that. In case you were curious."

"Good to know," Hans says with a twitch of a smile.

"Out with it already." Elsa slurs, sleepily.

The Arendelle party was a masquerade - thankfully Harold, conniving prick of a brother that he is, had an invite he was willing to part with in exchange for an excessive amount of cash. It was worth it. It was what Hans needed to enter her father's home and ask properly for his daughter.

Hans props up on his elbow at her demand, but waits to speak. He wonders if she's dozed off again. Hans whispers, "You've already said the idea of me deigning to meet with your father, to ask permission to court and wed you properly seemed highly unlikely."

"Having decided what you wanted to do," Elsa's voice is heavy and comes slow, falling asleep, "you simply do it, without deference to anyone else's opinion."

Hans grins fully at her assessment. She's not entirely wrong, but in regards to this situation, she is. Before Hans can argue further, she's asleep.

Hans had done this once before, gone to her father and received his blessing. It was years ago, Elsa just in law school. Hans is certain Elsa has no idea. Last night Hans again went with heart in his hand to Agnarr Arendelle, who agreed to give Hans time and access to Elsa once more, unwilling to have his perfect image shattered with his daughters. Agnarr would allow Hans time to rekindle what was once lost between he and Elsa, agreed not to interfere.

_All I ask is you keep my daughter safe,_ Agnarr had said.

Hans sighs, shift in the tiny bed. The narrow sleeper cabin feels like a confessional box - something awful, burning him to talk. Tell Elsa that what she's been living has been all a lie. She has some idea now, though. He reaches out, brushing fingertips to the hair at her crown, then leaves his hand there - ghost of a touch, "I'm sorry."

Elsa is naive to Hans' dealings with the Arendelle Empire, was well as to the underworld connections and contracts held by Agnarr Arendelle. A power broker. A vice lord. Hans frowns, because he must not have appreciated what Agnarr had been up to, either.

_The hit._

Last night was clearly put on by someone desperate for revenge, the scene tasted of political vendetta and frustratingly Hans had not an iota of knowledge about any of it.

It's later and Hans is watching Elsa when her eyes flutter open again, cold with concern, "I will kill you myself if anything happens to Anna."

"Of course," Hans murmurs, trying to to deescalate this conversation again. "Anna will be okay. She's in good hands."

"You say that as if I trust you."

"You can trust Agent Bjorgman." Hans says. Hans can't stand him, the goody-two-shoes. "The son of a troll makes my life hell for no reason, watching me. But you'd like him."

" _The Ice Harvester_?" Elsa sighs. "That sounds rather sketchy."

Hans hums his agreement, having already explained twice the stupid nickname resulting from Agent Bjorgman's prowess and cunning methods of solving cold crimes, able to find the coldest leads and make something of them.

Hans had seen Agent Bjorgman in the aftermath and frenzied mix at the Arendelle estate, a fine suit he looked wildly out of place in and Anna Arendelle in tow. The guy also wore the look of a man knew something, and misjudged. Hans would loved to gloat, push him for information, but Elsa had other ideas as soon as he told her Anna was safe. As soon as Elsa had confirmation her parents were gone and the FBI didn't suspect Hans of involvement.

"Will he tell Anna where to find me?"

Hans sighs, "I don't know. But it doesn't really matter. You have to expect Anna will come after you."

Elsa looks guilty at Hans, "I just need time to work out what Papa got himself into. It's safer for Anna to stay away."

They've been through this already, she knows Hans hates this. She also knows he loves her, and is desperately trying to hold on to her. Elsa levels him with a hard glare, "And as your wife, this will be easier to look into - try and get behind the scenes. You're still willing to play along?"

Hans nods, reflex of a smile at his lips, "Who's playing, Mrs. Westergaard?"

"I am."


	9. Chapter 9

_Local lawyer of prominence and Naval Admiral, Hans Westergaard was married to Miss Elsa Arendelle, quintessential heiress of industry and fortune in a quiet ceremony earlier this month. The couple met in law school, Admiral Westergaard joining the Navy and the family law practice while Miss Arendelle completed her degree, graduating at the top of her class..._

There was more to it, a long marriage announcement noting both prominent families and where Mr. and Mrs. Hans Westergaard were to now call home. Even a lovely photo of them taken at his brother's wedding (before she froze him out years earlier) was included, published just hours after the tragedy at Papa's party. Elsa doesn't get past the first paragraph and photo.

"Oh." She feels stupid for being caught off guard. This somehow makes everything irrefutable. The world knows. Mrs. Hans Westergaard. She doubts Hans' innocence suddenly - he's getting what he wanted while she's living a nightmare which includes knowing she's been lied to her whole life and her parents dead.

Elsa glances down at her hand, at the Cartier sapphire she now wears, and wonders how Hans managed to get the announcement to press ahead of the news of her parent's murder. In ran in Saturday's paper. Anna has probably read it - it has been a few days now. Something breaks inside at that thought. Elsa has only just seen the announcement because Hans finally convinced her to come back to the city with him, come home. (His home).

" _We're loosing valuable time", Hans had said. We're. Like he's in it with her.“_

He was right, so Elsa decided to follow the money - where Papa's books never seemed to add-up, there should be something. The only thing Papa would ever let her do were fragmented parts of the business accounting, but she knew how things should look. She knew the law. It took her twenty minutes to find the first discrepancy when she pulled all the records together.

_Dirty money._

Hans agreed and added, "It smells of Gaston." When Elsa failed to respond he added, "French guy who loves his guns, can't let go of his army days - now an arms dealer? Vain as hell and not terribly bright? Not ringing a bell?

Elsa shook her head. Hans said, "Luck has it he's hosting a party tonight."

 _Of course he is_ , Elsa had thought wearily. It must have been plain on her face, how little she cared for the prospect, because Hans grinned childishly.

" _Come on_ ," his voice that of the nuisance of a nine year old Elsa had grown to know, egging her on. "Parties are fun. Especially Gaston's shindigs. People talk easily after the swill he serves, so this could prove fruitful. Introduce you, let him know you are taking over for your father...he's bound to offer something useful."

Hans presently frowns, looking over the newsprint she just handed him. Elsa can see his mind at work trying to find the problem. "I got it wrong? The wording, or the photo?" Hans looks quizzically up at Elsa, "I thought you liked that photo."

Elsa stares blankly.

"I know the announcement is a little long and - "

"No. It's perfect." Elsa interrupts, because this is what she's asked him for. She doesn't know how to feel - that cold sort of panic starts to build. Elsa rises to seclude herself away from him. "But that doesn't mean I don't get to hate it."

"This was your idea. So you can't run from this, Elsa." And god doesn't she know but of course he's going to point it out again, "You made a choice to chase after demons and face them rather than sit back and let the FBI handle this."

"I can't run from this," Elsa pauses at the door frame, gripping the wood. She's not panicked about Hans, not scared of what she's to find hiding in Papa's closets. She is scared of those skeletons growing flesh to bone, coming after Anna if things go badly. If she can't put on a good enough show. She can't lose Anna, too.

Then it hits her - something transformative, giving her courage and, "I'm going out, dear."

Hans blinks at the endearment, "I'm coming with - "

"No." She says soft and sweet and so not her, "I am gonna need to get dolled-up, can't go out tonight like this." She offers an innocent shrug of a shoulder.

Hans looks confused. His eyes narrow, trying to pick her apart.

Elsa gives a small smile, eyes sharp and not a lie but something about her tone suggests otherwise. Then, "A car will be fine. And I'll take Marshall."

Hans slowly nods, likely trying to sort out how much to trust her alone. He proceeds to pick up the receiver on his desk and, "My wife is going out for a little while." Then a pause, "Have a car ready in five minutes."

Elsa can't help but feel delighted at his reaction until he says, "No, Marshmallow is going with her."

 _Ugh_.

"Don't call him that." Elsa snaps. "You've known my bodyguard since law school, quit perpetuating a childish nickname."

"Marshall. Of course," Hans grins, likely at her irritation rather than at something said over the phone. Not even an attempt at sincerity.

Elsa turns, walks away to find Marshall and her handbag and thinks of how Hans met Anna. The absurdity of Hans' go at the charade he concocted when Elsa confronted him in his office about what he'd done. He was so serious, too. _After dancing the night away, we ran off together to be wed by a judge_.

Okay, Elsa decides - if that's going to be reality, she's gonna need to look the part.

* * *

 

"It's such a waste that it was cut," Hans murmurs.

"Yes," Elsa smiles. She knew he would hate her new bob, finger curls just like Anna's. "It is such a _shame_. If only hair were capable of growing _back_ …"

Hans is standing intimately beside her making small talk as he watches Gaston work some deal with a group of men not far from where they stand. Despite appearances, neither of them have had a drop of liquor - careful illusion of imbibing heavily like the rest of the party-goers with drinks in hand. Elsa looks up at how the chandeliers sparkle, highlighting the French provincial details which contrast the various buck heads and taxidermy decorating the walls of Gaston's home. He must use antlers in all of his decorating, she thinks.

Hans huffs a laugh, his lips hooking to school his smile. "If _only_ it did grow back..." The rest of his words are lost as someone suddenly walks close beside them in the grand hallway of Gaston's mansion, laughter and music drowning Hans' words.

The eerie old man assesses Elsa, eyes drawing slowly over her, and before she can think Hans is pressing lips to the sensitive skin now revealed at the nape thanks to the haircut. His warm hand curls fingers around her waist, possessively.

It takes a second then Elsa realizes the show she's supposed to offer. Her hand covers his as she hums in satisfaction, raises it to her lips to press a languid kiss to. Out of nowhere, arousal pools somewhere private as Hans' other hand snakes around her hip, pressing her to him. She remembers what it was like before, how addictive his touch was, how it made her want things she couldn't have. It takes a few heartbeats for the glorious heat to dissipate and her pride to return. She nervously adjusts the spaghetti strap on her dress for the umpteenth time. Her eyes flutter closed - _get it together._

"That dress is gorgeous," ghosts over her skin as Hans' lips trail wet kisses to her ear. The dress is too short and too straight, her curves hidden under fabric that allows full range of movement when dancing. "Just like my wife."

The man who looks like he runs a lunatic asylum averts his gaze, and keeps walking.

Elsa's eyes blink open, sanity returning as she brushes Hans' hand away and steps out of reach. It takes a calming breath before she's steady, "Stop trying to neck with me."

Hans' eyes are dark with lust, but he laughs easily, "Yes, darling. I'll save it for the bedroom." He winks. Elsa scowls.

It's later. Elsa has now spoken to Gaston, who wouldn't stop looking at her breasts, and his (for lack of a better word) sidekick LeFou who wouldn't stop looking at Gaston lovingly (because what's going on there?), and the fool is exactly what Hans said. Vain. Stupid. He told Elsa's breasts that he was sorry to hear her parents died, but that Duke Weaselton must be thrilled to be rid of Agnarr foiling his plans.

Elsa had to choke on her giggle at how easily that came out of the man.

She's excused herself to the powder room when the eerie, lunatic asylum man appears, blocking her way.

"D'Arque," he mutters, "Dr. D'Arque. I don't usually leave the asylum in the middle of the night, but he said you'd make it worth my while."

Somewhere not far behind is laughter.

Before she can scream, a cold hand wraps around her mouth. The world goes black.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Making an assumption that Elsa and Anna’s mother in “Frozen” was sister to Rapunzel's mother from “Tangled”. Just roll with it :)  
> Feel free to review! What do you think so far?

“Anna," Aunt Arianna calls out into the garden. Her voice is not exactly sing-song. It's something unsure, "There are visitors here to see you."

Anna squints as she looks up from her book, "Be right in!"

She watches her Aunt give a little wave as she heads back in, likely to insist that whoever has come by needs to have a cup of tea and a biscuit or something.

Anna is beyond grateful her Aunt and Uncle have taken her into their home with open arms, making her feel welcomed and loved and safe despite all the uncertainty with not only loosing her parents, but Elsa running away.

Rapunzel looks at Anna over the edge of her easel, eyes wide and eyebrows raised. "Ooooo. A fella?" Her smile slips scandalous. "Maybe a male caller?"

Anna can't help but blush as she giggles at her cousin's antics. "Something tells me it's not likely that kind of visit," Anna sighs as she hops off the stool. "Coming?"

It is probably Kristoff and Sven again and _yah_ \- Kristoff's a looker but he won't help her find Elsa so he's getting the cold shoulder if that is what he wants. Anna is certain that Kristoff knows exactly where Elsa is, but won't say.

"You go ahead. I have to rescue Eugene from Daddy. Sadly." Rapunzel says, pointing toward the tennis courts with her paintbrush. Anna can faintly make out an exasperated cry, something male and distinctly Eugene.

Anna doesn't catch herself nervously fixing her hair (she should not care what Kristoff thinks of her appearance) until she stops in the parlor. Kristoff is there alright. But no Sven. Instead he's got some old man who gives her a shiver.

"Um, hi?" Anna smiles awkwardly, glancing around the room and Aunt Arianna is hovering over a tea service, making herself look busy. Anna looks at Kristoff, he's frowning. Good. Maybe he's come to his senses. Anna crosses her arms over her chest and does her best to look in control, "Changed your mind about helping me?"

Kristoff clears his throat, "Miss Arendelle, this is Judge Claude Frollo."

"How do you do?" Anna says and she feels herself deflate a little 'cause this is weird. The Judge looks down his nose at her. She can feel his eyes as he studies her. "Does this have something to do with my sister?"

The man nods, then offers an envelope to Anna, "As Elsa Westergaard's next of kin, I must provide you with her personal effects. I have a few documents for you to sign as well. Agent Bjorgman has been kind enough to help expedite the process for us," Judge Frollo says in way of explanation, "So if you'll come with me..."

Anna opens the envelope which contains all sorts of legal looking documents, and a sapphire ring. The ring Hans gave Elsa.

" _No_." Anna's heart sinks, the room narrows to black with an odd noise ringing in her ears. _Elsa's effects?_ In the blackness she can feel herself crumble, clutching tightly to the ring and dropping the envelope as her knees hit the rug. Before she looses it entirely, there is Kristoff catching her.

"It's not what you think - I promise," Kristoff murmurs in her ear and despite the world going black there is light in his words. "But Elsa needs your help, so play along. Follow my lead."

Anna feels as if she's gulping air for long moments, Aunt Arianna now helping her to a loveseat to sit at. She's holding Anna's hand, "Excused me, sir? What's going on? Where is my niece?"

Anna's eyes have finally cleared enough to see Kristoff clearly again, he looks uncomfortable, "Elsa has been committed to the state lunatic asylum."

"Hans had her _committed_?" Anna says in disbelief. That makes no sense...at least of what Elsa had said about him. The man was crazy in love with her, literally. He would keep her as close as possible. A thought pings distantly that she should have been hunting Hans down these last few days - odds are he'd have been with Elsa.

Kristoff shakes his head at Anna's question, but it is Judge Frollo who responds, "Dementia praecox. Poor thing was hysterical with it - a danger to herself. Her so-called husband is being taken into custody as we speak for the exploitation of someone so mentally defective and the murder of your parents."

It's as Kristoff is escorting Anna to his car to ride with Judge Frollo to see Elsa he says so softly that Anna almost misses it, "Sven has Hans. He's being set-up. We're hoping he's gonna play nice and help us figure out who's behind all this."


	11. Chapter 11

Something cold twists inside, unpleasantly. It is persistent and something entirely unfamiliar.

Fear.

He saw Elsa as she was stolen away, drugged unconscious and manhandled - carried out for show in front of the partygoers to a guarded van bound for the lunatic asylum. Hans can still taste the rage, the helplessness - absolutely powerless to stop them as he was incapacitated and pinned down by what seemed to be a dozen men. He was forced to watch, holding back the bile spilling up his throat. There was sick laughter.

Hans hasn't been able to close his eyes without it haunting him. He's not slept. And he's not proud, but he did want to cry for the first time in forever - he wasn't strong enough to keep Elsa safe - to stop the attack. It hurt, literally. He wondered if he broke a rib.

"You're with me."

Hans fails to glance up from the rust stain on the cell floor he's been staring at for the last day and a snow storm as he picks apart and rebuilds a timeline...where did the fatal slip occur? What did he miss that led to this disaster?

_Gaston was working with others, had to be, to coordinate throwing me in a cell accused of murder and told to wait._

Hans keeps struggling with where all the pieces might fit - including Harold. That was Harold's laughter he heard at Gaston's party in the furious commotion...that irritating, low pitched giggle of his. And Hans keeps going back to the night of the Arendelle masquerade - the invitation that the rat of a brother of his was willing to sell him. Hans now feels Harold was a little more amenable to parting with it than he let on.

"That means stand up and _come with me_."

Hans hears the heavy metal lock on the door disengage, hears the bars slide open. It takes a moment for Hans to realize the words spoken were directed at him. He finally looks up, finding Sven. The large man with sloppy hair, prematurely greying given he looks to be about twenty-three, is looking at Hans expectedly. His left eye is a little swollen and dark.

"What's happened to my wife?" Hans can feel the words growl out. He has to control this - deep breath.

"Just come with me," Sven sighs. There is something like sympathy in his words.

Hans rises, dusting himself off and choosing to follow directions. Hans knows Sven. Sven is usually willing to let slip what he and Kristoff are working at. Hans trusts the guy will talk if he knows anything about Elsa. He reminds himself to play nice.

"Good to see you," Hans mutters to Sven, ducking his head to avoid the low bars of the holding cell as he exits. "Although you still smell like a reindeer."

"Surprised you could smell anything after sitting in that cell," Sven says, and not in a rush or willing to be offended although he gives Hans a slight shove towards an open door. "Smells like piss in there."

"How very astute of you." Hans has never had an issue with Sven. He's good-natured, easy-going. Kristoff on the other hand -

"Where's your sidekick?" Hans asks quietly, noting that Sven is leading him with intent away from the holding cells. "Tell  me he's with Elsa. Tell me she's safe."

Sven fails to response, instead falling silent in the noise and bustle of the Bureau bullpen, and Hans makes note of details as they walk - adding things up. Quiet Sven means Elsa is likely not safe. No cuffs means Hans is not perceived a threat and he's not entirely without rights. Hans isn't getting so much as a look from agents as he walks past, which means he's expected. A lack of Kristoff means he's likely with Anna Arendelle, who is probably with Elsa. Something icy and sick stirs in his gut as Sven pushes open an exterior door. They're leaving.

Sunlight shocks his vision, as does the snow. It's unseasonable to have this much, and ice - it covers every surface. The cold bite is a welcomed relief to what are likely his bruised ribs (thanks to the struggle he gave when first taken down then into FBI custody). He landed a hard hit to Sven, now that he thinks about it.

Hans glances over at the fella. Yup, left eye. "Nice shiner."

"Quit admiring your handiwork and just get it the car." Sven opens a door.

"Where are you taking me?"

"Depends on you." Sven says. "You cooled off enough to use your head again?"

"Am I under arrest?"

"Nope. Don't think you had anything to do with the murder of the Arendelles."

That all gives Hans pause. This may work, "Yes. My head is cooled." He studies Sven, his lips quirk. "And. I'm sorry. I just don't want anything to happen to her. To Elsa."

"Good. 'Cause we don't, either. We need that conniving mind of yours to help solve this."

Hans must look leery of following because Sven adds, "Relax, Red. I'm taking you to your wife."

* * *

 

"Singling out the ways in which her delusions, as well as her erotic and destructive tendencies are expressed in her attire and demeanor," Judge Frollo says to the psychiatrist, Dr. D'Arque, or so Sven had said, "scandalizing the public. Obviously she's had a break - suffering from delusions. Unacceptable. The drugs will help secure her place here."

"Of course. Absolutely revolting how morally defective the madness has made her."

Hans can't see anything, Sven shoved him into a supply closet as soon as Hans spotted Judge Frollo.

"Elsa Westergaard is dangerous and threatens the very fabric of the legal world, representing the female hysteria perfectly."

The psychiatrist says, "No matter. Mrs. Westergaard has been stripped of her sense of self upon entering the institution.”

"How I do so long to purge our country of vice and sin. Of lust. Genocide..."

It seems like forever before Sven and Hans make their way out, eventually finding where Elsa is held. Sven introduces a short old man who waddles like a duck when he walks, "This is Dr. Ludwig Von Drake. He's not part of the corruption around here."

"Pleasure, Admiral Westergaard." Dr. Von Drake says. He looks through the glass at Elsa, "I'm unsure why, but there are very bad people going to great lengths to ensure your wife is deemed mad. They have control of her here."

"Then move her." Hans snaps.

"It is out of my hands," Dr. Von Drake says gravely. "I can do my best to look over her while incapacitated, you know...until the FBI can get things in place..." he trails off.

"What's happened?"

"She's been drugged with something extremely psychoactive, and she's experiencing severe dysphoria."

Hans can't wrap his head around what the duck-like psychiatrist is saying until he's escorted into her room. Elsa's dressed in light-weight hospital linen, something almost sheer in the morning light and she's barefoot - the room is freezing. She's staring out the window at the snow that's falling again. Her hands are clutched tightly into fists. Like a threat.

"Oh no," she says aghast. "What have I done?"

"It was a early winter storm. You've done nothing wrong."

Something shatters in her posture and she whips around, "Prince Hans? Why did you bring me here? I'm a threat to Arendelle."

Hans opens his mouth, but can't manage what to say. "Elsa?"

"You could have just let them kill me." Elsa says harshly. Her eyes are blown wide, pupils dilated and her complexion flushed.

"What have they done to you?" Hans murmurs, striding across the room and burying her in his embrace. He combs fingers through her too-short hair and kisses her temple. He caresses a hand over her arms, noting the discolored skin under the goosebumps - bruising and evidence of how she's been mistreated.

"Aren't you cold?" She's chilled, but not shivering. Elsa can't stay here, he can't leave her like this, drugged and talking nonsense like she has the power to set off an eternal winter like some anxious icy goddess. Hans sweeps her up into his arms, turns to Dr. Von Drake and Sven, "I can't leave her here like this. She'll freeze."

She doesn't fight it. She gives a shrug, curls herself further into him as if awakened by his warmth. Then she startles Hans by curling a hand around him, kissing him. It's something tentative and unsure like she's not supposed to but can't help herself.

"The cold never bother me, anyway."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Women, having just won the right to vote, were seen as more dangerous, and the State Lunacy Commission committed women liberally, often for flimsy or manufactured reasons.
> 
> Dementia praecox (sorta like a dated understanding of schizophrenia) was typically regarded as hereditary degenerative disorders and therefore unamenable to any therapeutic intervention. Initial onset generally seen in puberty or early adulthood - right around Elsa's age. Her sudden change in appearance, seemingly reckless and impulsive behavior such as marrying Hans, gallivanting around scantily-clad. It all aligned with mania - and onset of Dementia. To ensure this perception, Judge Frollo drugged Elsa as he committed her.


	12. Chapter 12

"Your name?" Dr. Von Drake smiles expectantly, strange pen in hand and hovering.

Elsa assumes he's here to help with the awful stabbing pain and ache in her belly. She must have fallen harder than she thought when that chandelier crashed down on her at her ice palace following Prince Hans' arrival - stopping her from being the monster they feared she was. The elixirs the strange men gave her haven't helped the pain, resting in the bed has.

"Queen Elsa, of Arendelle." Elsa lifts her chin, watches curiosity dance across his features. Something is fogging her mind and she can't think clearly, but shouldn't the physician be examining her? About the pain?

"And your occupation?"

A pause.

"I'm unsure what to make of that question," Elsa says cautiously, darting a glance at Prince Hans. She's also unsure why Prince Hans is here with her in the dungeon. That is, aside from the fact that Anna ran off (evidently) and left him Regent. Anna (evidently) has not returned. The irresponsibility of that is horrifying - _could Anna not stop to think three steps ahead to see how that all could go badly?_

 _Ugh_.

And so Arendelle's new Regent sits at Elsa side, his left hand folded neatly over his right, with elbows pressed to his knees. Without his gloves, the band of gold wrapped around his fourth finger shines. The Prince appears unhappy.

Elsa suddenly decides he is really quite handsome - and obviously possesses a cunning intellect to have seen opportunity as Anna presented him, to have been in such a position to take power. Elsa has to admire that.

Prince Hans strikes Elsa as a natural leader - she can see how others are willing to follow his command. It's something innate. And Prince Hans distantly reminds her of Papa, but she can't say why. She can say Papa would have liked him. He'd probably make an excellent King.

Elsa momentarily forgets her curse as regret and jealousy slither under her skin. Regret she didn't afford Prince Hans opportunity to court her as he requested before her coronation, and jealousy that he's now Anna's.

The howling storm outside suddenly makes itself known against the window. Regret freezes, and shatters. No one could be that close to her, no one could know back then - but they all know now.

_The perfect girl is gone._

Elsa wonders what Prince Hans sees when he looks at her. She can't read his expression at all. Elsa doesn't realize how long she's been staring at Prince Hans until the doctor chuckles. It is a warm sound, "Make anything you like out of my question. All I want to know is how you give yourself identity. For many, it is their occupation."

Elsa blinks, "As I just stated, I am Queen. Of Arendelle." This physician must be feeble-minded. Surely he was told who she was.

She adds, "A monster."

Prince Hans huffs a protest at that comment somewhere beside her. Elsa doesn't look at him.

"Ah," the physician says, scribbling. Dr. Von Drake doesn't look down at the paper as he writes, but rather at her. "A monster?"

Elsa sighs, and lifts a hand. With a twist of her wrist she gestures to the outside window. Guilt twists painfully as swirling snow piles with the sudden shift of wind on the sill. "I cursed this land, my kingdom. I'm a threat to Arendelle. And I don't know how to stop this winter to bring back summer."

Beside her is a _giggle_. A grown man's giggle. Elsa's gaze snaps to Hans. His smile is hidden with a duck of his head. Didn't he have sideburns? "Something amusing, Prince Hans?"

"What is Hans' name?"

Elsa doesn't look away from Prince Hans. "Of the Southern Isles - you're the youngest?"

Hans nods as she thinks back to her history lessons, memorizing the royal houses, "Vestergaard? _No_. That's the common form. Westergaard. Prince Hans Christian Anderson Westergaard, Duke of something-I-can't-remember-for-the-life-of-me, of the Southern Isles."

Prince Hans can't school his smile fast enough, it's bright and gleeful and she glares. "Again, I asked what was amusing."

He coughs to cover his breath, "With Your Majesty's permission, I would prefer to share that with you, privately. Later."

"Elsa?" Dr. Von Drake redirects, "You said you are a threat to Arendelle. Can you elaborate?"

"I set off an eternal winter - everywhere!" Elsa says, gesturing to the window again. Does he not see that as a threat? She shifts to get up, walk back to the window and see how bad it is and grimaces at a sudden shot of pain. Elsa presses a hand to her belly - then a groan. Pressing hard only makes it worse. _Don't touch._

"And why did you..." the physician struggles to word his question.

"Go all ice-crazy?" Elsa supplies because why the disbelief she's responsible for freezing Arendelle? Are her subjects really so trusting of anyone who is part of the Monarchy?

Elsa wets her lips, ashamed. "I. I refused to bless the marriage."

Dr. Von Drake is flipping through papers, "Who's marriage?"

Elsa likely looks bewildered as she glares at Prince Hans once more, "My sister's marriage to Hans. You can't marry a man you just met."

Hans frowns, and has the decency to look guilty. His voice is soft, and bizarrely sincere as he whispers, "You can if it's true love." Elsa opens her mouth to protest but Hans continues, "This. Us. It's true love. Why won't you trust that?"

_What?!_

"You're talking nonsense. You... _you're in love with me?_ "

"Since the day I met you."

"Your sister is married to your husband?" Dr. Von Drake interjects. The pen has stopped. He's just as confused as Elsa but she doesn't hear his question - she pushes herself up out of the bed and past the pain to make her way to the window.

She finds ice and snow and a reflection there, like a twisted looking glass. It's her reflection, _but not_. Her hair is cut like a boy's, short to her chin and falls in waves, and she isn't in her icy gown.

Elsa's hands scramble into her hair, feels the loose length ( _what happened to her braid?_ ), then fall to her icy gown. She blinks and it's gone - replaced by strange fabric. She has to get this off, whatever this is, and unthinking she tears at the fabric. In the next heartbeat she stands nude before the window and she sees the bandage around her pelvis, tinged faintly with old blood on one side.

Elsa has no idea what to make of it. She looks worried up at the physician, who is frantically flipping pages, muttering to himself, something about a _mistaken compulsory sterilization aborted?_

Hans is suddenly beside her, wrapping his jacket around her. He sobs something, coaxes her to lay down. Hans chokes back words, hidden. He _sobs_.

She complies. Hans kisses her forehead and wraps her hand in his. Like a treasure. It's too intimate - a warmth blooms in her chest and Elsa is suddenly thankful for him. She realizes she's absolutely, entirely in love with the man. She wants to cry, wants to let go of the chaos that's controlling her mind because none of this makes sense.

"Come back to me," Hans begs.

Elsa's free hand is shaking as she raises it to send her magic surging across the room in fury, in confusion - nothing happens. The ice doesn't come, for the first time in forever. Reality shatters - lucidity returns like a flip of a switch.

"What's happening to me?" Elsa asks. Hans looks at her like studying a puzzle. "Please, Hans. Just. I want to go home."


	13. Chapter 13

The man still gives Anna the shivers.

It's been a day since Anna last saw Judge Frollo. A day since her walking tour through that hell-hole, house of horrors where poor Elsa was trapped in some sort of barbiturate-induced deep sleep, _therapy to treat her dementia praecox._ Or so the super creepy Dr. D'Arque had said. Even Anna could tell that was a bold-faced lie.

Elsa looked so pale and utterly defenseless and _awful_ , laying in a small hospital bed with wrists restrained. Elsa never woke up during the visit. Anna never saw Hans, although Kristoff said Sven was coming with him. Anna really hoped to see him, to punch the fella in his aristocratic nose for this horrific mess he got them all into.

"So good to see you again, Miss Arendelle. To what do I owe the pleasure?" Judge Frollo's words are kind although he sneers at the lawyer Anna brought with her and Kristoff to file the papers necessary to release Elsa.

 _Sneers_.

"So, okay," Anna had no idea people actually did that, _sneer evilly_ , and is a little caught off-guard. "I just need you to sign these so I can take Elsa home with me, and then we can get out of your hair."

Judge Frollo smiles at Anna, strange and unnerving. He leans back in his seat behind his huge desk, "Oh?"

"Please." Anna adds faintly.

"Well then." Judge Frollo rises, his gaze fixed on Kristoff who gives a simple nod, respect or agreement, Anna can't tell. "Let me see what I can do, Miss Arendelle."

The Judge slowly comes round his absurdly large desk, all the while studying Kristoff, until he stops in front of Anna.

He glances at Anna dismissively as he takes the documents from the lawyer who won't make eye contact. The lawyer seems kinda timid. Anna distantly wonders what his problem is and where the heck Papa had found him. Maybe she should have tried to find her own lawyer,rather than use someone Papa employed.

"Agent," Judge Frollo sighs with dissatisfaction, flipping slowly through the proffer, "I hear you dropped the ball."

Kristoff had already warned Anna not to trust anything that comes out the Judge's mouth; she's prepared. Kristoff talked about it late last night and so Anna raises her chin, tries to remember she has the control here.

Judge Frollo presses a bony finger to the papers, marking his place, then looks sympathetically up at Anna, although he addresses Kristoff, "Westergaard was handed to the FBI on a silver platter by Gaston with thorough evidence to support his indictment for the brutal hit and _murder_ of the Arendelles." He blinks lazily as his gaze slides to Kristoff.

Kristoff remains silent.

The Judge drops the papers on his desk as he levels Anna a look. Something like pity, "And yet Westergaard has been released, I'm told."

"Don't get me wrong, I'd love to keep Hans Westergaard in a cell, sir." Kristoff says. "What we had on him was insufficient. That was Grand Pabbie's call."

"How unfortunate - wouldn't you agree, Miss Arendelle?" The Judge turns back to be seated. He growls something rude about Grand Pabbie, the current Bureau Chief from what Kristoff said, under his breath.

Anna glances at Kristoff, and shrugs. "Yeah. Well, there it is. Back to releasing my sister?"

Judge Frollo smiles sweetly, flipping through the pages and finds the signature lines of the release. He holds out a pen for Anna, "Of course. Please sign here."

Anna figures that if she shouldn't sign it, someone should speak up. Neither the (worthless) lawyer or Kristoff do, and so _Miss Anna Arendelle_ is scribed atop the line. Anns stares at the ink, unsure why regret twists in her gut for signing the release.

"Thank you, Miss Arendelle."

"Thank you, sir." Seems to be the right words to say.

The Judge rises, proceeds to a file cabinet against the back wall and rifles through until he finds whatever it is he is looking for. Some half-sheet of paper that he chuckles at.

He proceeds to place the two documents side by side on his desk and looks up expectantly at Kristoff. "Agent Bjorgman, wouldn't you say these signatures... _match_? Compare the way the 'A' in Arendelle curls into the 'r'?

Anna looks closely at what the heck Judge Frollo is talking about, why would that even matter, as Kristoff peers over the document. Anna's heart sinks like a stone.

_A marriage certificate._

Judge Frollo has the certificate of Hans' marriage to Elsa - the one Anna signed. Hot panic hit Anna, a rush of dread drying her mouth as she watches Kristoff's reaction, waiting for the shoe to fall.

Kristoff only shrugs, "Similar. But not surprisingly so." Kristoff glances at Anna, "You and Elsa shared the same tutors growing up?"

Anna blinks, "Hu?" Not exactly what she expected.

"Same tutors for penmanship?"

"Oh, yeah." Anna wets her lips, tries not to let her voice rush out in a ramble. "Mr. Yorn. He was really mean, made me rewrite thousands of pages and pages of letters over the years saying I was too sloppy."

Anna shakes her head, because boy is she bad at lying, "He always said I was distracted too easily."

The Judge sighs, "Ah." It is not a sound of resignation, rather humored agreement.

Anna looks to Kristoff who's expression is absolutely unreadable.

"I'm afraid I cannot help you, Miss. Arendelle. As Agent Bjorgman has confirmed, Hans Westergaard is no longer under arrest and is a free man. And as Elsa Westergaard's husband, he is her next of kin. I am unable to speak any further with you on the matter of her treatment." Judge Frollo makes a gesture dismissing them from his office.

"But - " Anna starts to protest, only to be cut off by Judge Frollo, "That is, unless this certificate is invalid."

Anna stares. Debates what to say.

"This is your signature on the marriage certificate, isn't it?"

* * *

 

"Frankly, I don't trust your judgement." Kristoff huffs as he throws his car into drive, back to the asylum to retrieve Hans and Sven.

" _Excuse me_?" Anna says indignantly, lighting a cigarette and fanning the match to extinguish. She lied, of course. Couldn't confess what she'd done. Confessing could literally kill Elsa.

Kristoff's eyes grow large as they dart between the road and Anna. He grunts, "Don't smoke in the car, what - were you raised in a barn?"

Anna rolls her eyes, "Nope. In a castle."

Kristoff leans over, removes the smoke from between her lips as she takes a soothing drag. He extinguished the cigarette before pitching it out the window.

 _Damn it_ , she needed that smoke. " _Hey_!"

"What?"

Anna crosses her arms tightly. Truthfully there is no use fighting over a smoke at this point. "What do you mean you _don't trust my judgement?_ "

"Who marries a man they just met?!"

Oh.

"And pretends to be their sister when they do it!"

"I didn't mean - I wasn't. Kristoff. It's complicated..." Anna tries. Damn it, he knew it wasn't Elsa's signature.

"You know, you've put me off for ever helping anyone ever again." Kristoff scowls.

"I understand if you don't want to help me anymore." Anna says, small. Defeated. "Just. Please help get Elsa out of there."

Kristoff grinds this teeth. "Fine."

 

* * *

 

It's funny. When Anna envisioned Elsa with Hans, it was without the vaguest notion of genuine affection. Without love. But as she finds Elsa awake, upright and swaying gently in Hans' arms in an insane asylum as if in a slow dance to Elsa's favorite song, played by an imaginary band, Anna can't help but smile.  

Her sister loves the man.

Anna messed up, but maybe not as bad as she feared.

 


	14. Chapter 14

Hans wishes Anna would hurry up with the papers to release Elsa. Sven said Agent Bjorgman and Anna Arendelle were on their way.

Elsa gives a pathetic cough as her voice cracks.

Elsa's throat must ache, Hans thinks as her voice fails her, and she lets her eyelids drop. Poor thing insisted on swaying in his arms, slowly rocking side to side like a dance as she sang softly, to which he happily obliged.

At first Elsa said she wanted to sway with him because it helped the pain in her belly as she refused to take any more medication.

_My mind is already foggy enough, I won't let it slip further away._

Minutes later Elsa said it was because she didn't get a turn across the dance floor at her coronation ball.

_I was afraid to touch anyone, afraid I would hurt them like I hurt Anna years ago. Knowing you love me like I love you makes me reckless...you make me brave...because I know now, love will thaw._

Hans has waited years for her to confess her love again - he hates it was here. As Elsa has said I love you during her lucid moments, he trusts it isn't just crazy talk, but still - the whole thing is not very romantic.

In the moments when Elsa believes herself an icy sorceress, Hans can't help smirk at how adamantly she will insist it is all her ice and her snow outside the window, and how she is terribly confused as to why she can't thaw it. Apologetic and frightened. He's now dubbed her the Snow Queen.

Hans is selfishly enjoying crazy Elsa far too much - such a stark departure from the controlled, stoic image she's cultivated.

Dr. Von Drake said it would be days before the drugs clear from her system entirely. In the mean time, Hans has been told to attempt to gently reorient, but don't argue with her. It would seem Hans will just have to play _Prince Hans_ from time to time until then. He grins at that thought.

_As long as she's my Snow Queen, I'm game._

They've now been at it for almost two hours, swaying a slow dance that Hans has enjoyed every moment of and Elsa's mind intermittently returning just to slip away again.

He wonders if she'll remember any of this later.

Hans presses her closer to him as he feels her strength giving out, footing failing as exhaustion finally overwhelms her. Laying Elsa back into the small bed once more, he fastidiously avoids her abdominal wound - something he's not willing to think on until Elsa's mind comes back fully. The questionable damage done to her, the stolen possibly of ever being a mother, is simply incomprehensible.

Hans lifts his head and catches sight of Anna watching him from outside the private asylum room, and his lips press thin. Elsa has spoken numerous times regarding how much she loves Anna - how Anna means the world to her. Curiously, he has the strangest guilt gnawing at him. He's no earthly idea how to manage it, so he lingers at Elsa's bedside longer than necessary to be satisfied that she's finally asleep, then goes to face Anna.

Anna looks like she's ready to commit a not so random act of violence, directed pointedly at him. Kristoff and Sven are both beside her, waiting, so Hans suspects Anna won't act on that impulse...just yet.

Anna crosses her arms as Hans stops before the group, then fiercely demands, "You have to tell them to let her go." She reminds him so much of Elsa as she entered her first year of law.

Hans' first thought is of how red Anna's hair looks now, making her look _so young_. So trusting. He'll try to blame his lack of sleep for the sudden, overwhelming thought that he's nothing but a manipulative bastard, lacking any sort of fundamental decency for his deceitful trick against her. The fact she lied to him, and is just as at fault (if not more so) for the resulting charade of a marriage, is lost.

"I'm sorry," spills past Hans' lips before he can think. His chest lightens, absurdly, and he looks back at Elsa. Asleep and in his life again, with her love and grace. She makes him listen to that nasty little conscious, makes him try to do better. His fingers play absently with his wedding ring as this epiphany strikes.

Anna frowns in surprise of Hans' apology, her eyes darting to Kristoff. Something unspoken passed between them.

Anna begrudgingly sighs, "Me too."

It occurs to Hans that Anna must not have contested the legitimacy of Elsa's marriage to him.

_Interesting..._

That means he's still Elsa's husband. He assumed Anna would have put an end to that.

"Thank you." Hans means it.

Kristoff silently hands over papers for Elsa's release to Hans, to which he can't help but think there must be strings attached. Sven is saying something privately to him, to which Kristoff rolls his eyes.

Hans can only imagine what Sven says...but it doesn't matter, "I sign these, and Elsa can come home with me?"

"Essentially," Kristoff says. He looks at Sven shaking his head, "Although the definition of home is probably not what you're thinking."

Hans decides he is at the point he that doesn't care. As long as he can get Elsa out of here and safe, he'll do anything.

"I will do what I can."

* * *

 

"I wanted to go home, Hans. Our home." Elsa says curtly. She's lucid for the moment, "I can't have others knowing I'm _delusional_."

"Crazy for me alone?" Hans drawls. His lips pull a smirk, "Why, I'm flattered."

"You've - knock it off. Don't make this worse." Elsa groans, staring out the window at the Governor's mansion. It looks beautiful covered in all the snow.

Kristoff and Anna are already out of the car they took over, and are trudging through the snow to the house. Anna has been shamelessly flirting with Kristoff, in Hans' opinion, hands animated as she speaks to him. Anna give a smile and wave to Elsa, like come on already.

Hans says, albeit with distaste, "You should stay with your sister at your Uncle's home. As the FBI pointed out, the Governor, his home, is likely the safest place for you."

Sven turns around from the driver's seat, "How about if Hans stays with you? I have to keep an eye on him, and it would be easier in the long run to have you both in the same place."

Elsa blinks, as if that was something she'd never considered, "Okay."

* * *

 

As Elsa sleeps, Hans talks. He learns the FBI knows of Duke Weaselton's deals with the Arendelle's. The FBI knows it went badly - Adgar Arendelle backed out of something, and left the Westergaards holding the bag.

That part...Hans didn't know


	15. Chapter 15

With Hans being summoned by his Fleet command for a hearing, likely to explain where the hell he's been for the last few days and all, Elsa finds herself lonely and wandering hallways, impatient as she awaits a physician who's been called to examine her. It is getting late, and Hans isn't back yet. He is supposed to be here. Elsa worries that although Hans joked about concerns he'd gone absent without authorized leave and technically a deserter - as well as been detained by the FBI at one point, perhaps it was serious.

It is as she passes the conservatory during her idle walk she hears Anna's giggle. Kristoff must still be here, Elsa thinks. Anna has plans to go out this evening to a club with Rapunzel and Eugene, another reckless and carefree night. It would seem Kristoff will be tagging along.

"Better the devil you know _and all that_ ," Anna is saying under her breath, and to Kristoff.

Kristoff gives a little hum. Agreement maybe. Or disinterest.

Elsa is overwhelmed by spite, certain Anna is referring to Hans, and Elsa turns on her heel to address what's been said.

"Don't call him that," comes out before Elsa can think better of it.

Elsa's figure is framed by the doorway. Anna's been walking on pins whenever Elsa is around, so Elsa feels immediately guilty and frowns. She will admit she has had a short fuse these past days, especially with Anna after all that has happened to her.

Anna wears surprise as her eyes dart to the doorway, finding Elsa. Per usual, she didn't notice Elsa come in.

"Him what?" Anna tries. A hiccup.

"A devil. Hans?"

"Well," Anna shrugs, looking a little guilty. "Not sure what else to call the fella. And you're trying to lean on him."

Elsa says, likely stiffer than necessary, "I've never tried to lean on a man."

Anna rolls her eyes and Elsa can't help but think Anna is trying to pick a fight.

"Awe, Els." Anna come close, patronizingly sympathetic expression firmly fixed. She reeks of liquor. "Hans has just been bamboozling you with a lot of fancy words. He only wants you for your fortune...hearts aren't so easily changed."

Anna hands Elsa the society page of yesterday's paper, blaring article regarding Elsa's Dementia praecox complete with photo of Elsa being hauled off, drugged.

"Are you _drunk_?" Elsa says in disbelief, mostly because she can't think of why or what Anna is up to, or getting at. She's equally mortified her time in the asylum is evidently now common knowledge. "Don't say such things about him!"

Anna cross her arms, walking past a dumbstruck Elsa and out, "Why else would man stay with a woman who's in your predicament? Committed to the funny farm and all? Made an embarrassment in society circles? For money, Elsa." Anna throws over her shoulder, "Just ask him."

Elsa stands stock-still, at a loss as to what to say.

* * *

 

The stitches are out, without Hans' presence, and so is whatever truth Elsa cares to accept along with her shame.

Incomplete, the physician said sympathetically as he left Elsa's guest room after examining her. The sterilization procedure was likely aborted and left incomplete, given only one side of her abdomen bears an incision - although there was no way to know for sure what was done. Documentation from the asylum was scant and unreliable. Easily falsified. Elsa won't ever know for certain what damage was done. The physician explained she would still experience her monthly bleeds and even with one unaffected ovary, it was still possible to conceive a child.

 _Get mad_ , Elsa thought. _Work up a righteous huff_ \- she found the storm of emotions swirling with potential and unavoidable release, and ran. Past the physician, past Anna sulking with apologies, past Marshall lounging against the wall in the hall on his sentry watch over her. Past a pair of nameless house staff doing windows, and out her Uncle's mansion, straight into the fresh snow, falling silently and blanketing the garden.

Elsa sinks barefoot into the stuff, onto her hands and knees. The freezing bite giving her place to focus her grief, and she screams. Gut-wrenching and awful, as loud as she can. Then she does it again.

It hurts. It leaves her exhausted. It leaves her breathless and panting the frozen air. It is cathartic, finally letting her agony go into the winter sky.

The freeze has thoroughly soaked into Elsa's bones before the sharp sound of ice and snow crunching breaks her trance. The footsteps are slow and sure and Hans. A quick glance over her shoulder confirms it.

The angered effect of her shame has Elsa lashing out as if an iced heart, "Go away. Just leave me be."

Hans is still in his Naval uniform, the dark pea coat making stark lines against the white world swirling. His breath comes in a bursted plume, "No."

Elsa hangs her head, looks at her hands clenching the iced snow into clumps when Hans' coat falls around her shoulders like a cloak. His voice is kind, yet rings with command, "I am sorry for being so late. Tell me what the doctor said."

Hans plops himself down in the snow beside her, carefully not touching her, and waits.

Elsa can feel his gaze picking apart the broken shards of her, as if trying to build her back into her true form. Not this broken, pathetic mess before him. Strangely, the pregnant moment gives her power. Elsa meets his gaze as she demands, "What do you see when you look at me?"

Hans' brow hitches slightly in confusion, "I see Elsa."

"Who is Elsa?" She perfectly lucid, hasn't been hysterical or delusional for days. Hans' expression says he is calling her current mental status into question, however.

"The most amazing, brilliant, infuriating woman I have ever met. She's breathtakingly gorgeous. She speaks the truth, should even her voice shake with it. She's perfect. Her spell was cast on me from the moment I first met her." Hans gives a little shiver as a gush of cool air blows past, kicking snow up around them. He's not rushing her to move back inside the house. "I love her with everything I am. Every ounce of my being."

"Why? Why would a man become so obsessed with woman, and fight to remain at her side when she has nothing to truly offer in exchange."

The golden flecks in Hans' green eyes dominate his gaze as he shrugs lazily, "I think you misunderstand which of us have nothing to offer."

"Try again."

"Because you make me feel whole? You make my dark world light?" Hans huffs with a sad smile, "I apologize for my lack of eloquence - I never really tried to put it in words like you're asking, and the cold is slowing my mind."

Elsa studies him, surprised he's not said a word regarding her fortune or family power like he did years ago when he tried to convince her to marry him.

Hans shifts closer to her, then slides her up into his lap. His cheeks are so ruddy in the cold. "I will always see you perfect. Irregardless of anything you or anyone else tries to otherwise convince me."

_Convince otherwise? A challenge?_

"I'm not...the physician says the sterilization was likely incomplete, but I may not ever be able to have a baby." Elsa can feel the heat burn at her eyes, so they flutter closed as Hans' hand snakes up into her short bob, curling fingers into the waves. "I'm broken."

His hot breath ghosts over her skin, "I'm so sorry. But I don't love you any less, or find less perfection in you with that fact known."

Elsa shutters at the heat that brings, thinking of the years she denied her feelings for him, denied herself of his presence in her life. Elsa almost laughs at how she feels about a man who has come to be her husband so strangely. "I'm ashamed of what's happened to me, Hans."

"Don't give them that power. Keep it, control it." Hans presses a kiss to her temple, cold nose nuzzling. "Use that brilliant mind to make them pay."

Hans manages to rise with her in his arms, and proceeds to walk them towards the house. "I love you, but it's too damn cold out here."

"I love you, too." Elsa says with a small laugh. She's freezing and wet, as is Hans. A moment passes and the air between them shifts, something she wants private, away from others. With Hans. "Warm me up, Admiral Westergaard?"

"Someone is rather frozen at the moment, Mrs. Westergaard." Elsa can feel the rumbled breath of laughter in his chest as he breathes heavy with what she recognizes as desire, "I'll gladly help you thaw back out."

"Not like that," Elsa can feel the stain of embarrassment, logically there is no reason for it. "I'm not healthy yet."

"Ah," Hans says simply. "I have something else in mind then."

* * *

 

Elsa lays nude with limbs entwined with an equally nude Hans, snuggled into her small guest bed with door locked and a fire blazing. She's so warm and oddly content and _weary_ as she watches the flames dance from the logs, Hans flanking her back under the down comforter with his warm breath tickling her ear.

"I was certain I was going to be thrown in the brig. Certain. I walked into the hearing and it was like something I've never experienced. The President was at my hearing, Elsa." Hans is saying softly in her ear. "Instead, I've been granted leave until things settle out."

"Mmm. Why?" _And the President? Of the United States?!_

"Agent Bjorgman went to Grand Pabbie, he's head of the Bureau at the moment, and asked him for a favor." Hans says with a tinge of disbelief. "Unfortunately that means I owe the Feds now."

"Is that a problem? Playing nicely with others? And you mean the _President of the United States_ , right?" Elsa says with confusion.

"Yes, that's the fella." Hans shifts a hand, large and warm, over her hip. The movement leaves goosebumps in the wake of heat.

"Oh."

"Sometimes it is a problem to play nice. But for you, never." Hans adds.

"Good answer," Elsa can feel the tired pull of a grin against her skin as he kisses her. "So..."

Elsa falls silent, unsure how to phrase her thoughts about Papa and how he double-crossed Hans' family and Duke Weselton. Eventually she manages, "I feel better knowing Papa was trying to get out of his dealings with the mob. Trying to do the right thing - working with Agent Bjorgman to build a case against them."

Hans yawns, then repositions himself to look at her. "Elsa...I. I think he was going about it all wrong." Hans wets his lips and looks intently at her, "I'm no good at tax code, but I think that is how to do it. Trace the money, let the Feds worry about something stupid they can legitimately pin on them like tax evasion."

Hans drops a soft kiss to Elsa's lips, almost reverently. "You, however, are brilliant at understanding the codes. You found that link from your father to Gaston in the blink of an eye. Imagine what you could do if you got ahold of all the Westergaard's records?"

Elsa narrows her eyes, "Tax evasion? They murdered my family, destroyed my home, kidnapped me and assaulted me. You want me to look for evidence of someone not filing the right tax forms?"

Hans grins proudly, "I told Agent Bjorgman it sounded stupid."

Elsa blinks. "That was his idea?"

"Yes." Hans says, "But it makes sense." Hans sucks at his cheek before, "We'll need my brother Harold since he's been working with Duke Weselton. Plus he's the one who can most easily be persuaded to help." Hans looks thoroughly displeased with that prospect.

"What?"

"Harold is - look." Hans stumbles over his words, "Eugene was a con man and a thief before he married your cousin."

Elsa blinks, "Hu?" _Good god, what has the world come to?_

"Just trust me on this one. He has a brilliant plan to drive Harold crazy, force him to turn himself into the Feds, then we can get access to Duke's books."

 _That's how to get even with those that have destroyed my life?_ Elsa does not say.

"Ummm...okay?"

Elsa watches the flash of triumph cross Hans' face before he darts a kiss to her, "Excellent. With you leading this - they won't know what hit them."


	16. Chapter 16

"I've been at this long enough to know that right or wrong, people only want a guilty person, you know? Someone to blame. Someone to hate." Kristoff says thoughtfully over his paper coffee cup, and to Anna, seemingly out of the blue. "You don't have to self-implode to be that someone. Trust me."

_What?_

Kristoff is leaned back in his desk chair, carelessly rocking on two legs and studying the growing file he has mounting on the case against Duke Weselton. The FBI bullpen is quiet this morning. He glances over at Elsa, easily seen through the nearby conference room window.

Elsa is gleefully pouring over tax returns, documentation of public records of assets and such from the last few years. Duke Weselton's taxes. _Gleefully_. It's been a week since Elsa's release from the asylum, yet Anna finds herself questioning Elsa's sanity once more. The gal needs to reevaluate her definition of a good time.

Anna doesn't really get what Elsa is trying to do, but she wants to help - wants to show support for her big sister who she loves more than life itself, and had decided to follow Kristoff and Elsa to the office with coffee and French pastries for the boys in hand.

Anna also wanted to come this morning because that's where Kristoff was going and Anna felt she should, too. Anna has never been much for a babysitter, let alone being a tagalong, but Kristoff has been such a fine one and really swell, to boot. He's NOTHING like the fellas she usually meets, sure he's got a few flaws, but she's never met anyone so sensitive and sweet. ( _And he's quite the looker_.)

Breakfast seemed to be in order to say thank you to him.

Anna has thus far only been picking at her cherry tart, truthfully nursing a bit of a hangover from a few too many g&t last night. At Kristoff's random remark about self-imploding Anna decides she might be offended. "Excuse me? Guilty?"

"Listen, I can't just sit by and say nothin' anymore." Kristoff sighs, dropping the chair back on all fours with a thud and putting the file down. He levels Anna with a hard stare, "I think you need to stop it."

"Stop what?" Anna crosses her arms, darting a glance around the bullpen. The Bureau is quiet without the usual commotion of the weekday staff. Just a few diehard agents mulling over paperwork. It seems lonely. Why don't they go home to their families?

"You're working really hard to make your sister hate you."

"What?" Anna says, taking a sip of coffee and not really awake enough for this. "Why would I want my sister to hate me?"

Kristoff sighs, and fidgets with the paper coffee cup, twisting it in his hands.

"I think you're hoping she's gonna shut you out." Kristoff finally says. His brown eyes are studying her, and in a way that if he were any other fella she's think he's interested in a date.

He's Kristoff (so that can't be right) so Anna scoffs, "Why would I want that? She's my sister." It feels like the only explanation Kristoff should require. The look on his face says otherwise.

Kristoff has this bizarre, instinctual way of pining a person to their motives. Anna enjoys when he does it to others, like when he did it to Hans the other day, but not so much when he does it to her.

"You feel guilty about running off and marrying Elsa to who you thought was a perfect stranger." Kristoff reaches over the desk, swiping a chunk of Anna's cherry tart and tucking in his mouth. He says around a mouthful of pastry, "You feel guilty she's kept your secret hidden. What you did. You feel guilty she keeps forgiving you."

"No? Umm," Anna stammers. She hadn't thought on that any.

"And by keeping that secret, your sister made herself look like she had psychotic break or something. So now you feel guilty Elsa was tortured the way she was and that you couldn't save her."

Anna blinks, horrified. "You're right. I didn't - I mean, it..."

"And, I think you are trying to push Elsa far enough away so you won't have to see her with Prince Charming any more." Kristoff surmises.

Anna knows she'd love nothing more than to never see Hans Westergaard again. He made a fool outa her. Or maybe she made a fool outa herself. It's embarrassing.

"I think deep down you are very hurt that Hans led you to believe he fell for you - like love at first sight, and all along he was just playing you."

A truly unattractive noise sputters out Anna's mouth before she can form words. It's like Kristoff reached in Anna's head and plucked out every deep, dark thought knocking around. Almost. He hadn't gotten them all - like the ones about the jealousy she hadn't even admit to herself yet.

Kristoff glances away dismissively, "Ah."

"Ah, what?" Anna says. And okay. Maybe he got part of it right? "I know I messed up. I know I am a horrible human being. I get that. But Elsa is just rolling over and letting all this happen! Maybe it is because the trauma of Papa and Mama being killed, or maybe she's still being drugged. I dunno know."

Kristoff is intently looking at his paperwork with wide-eyed skepticism. Anna is certain that look is for her comment, not whatever he's pretending to read.

"All I know it that the Elsa I know would _NEVER_ just assume the position of little woman to a devil like Hans Westergaard. Or to anyone, for that matter."

"From where I sit, Elsa loves Hans." Kristoff shrugs, "and love is blind."

"What - are you some sort of _love expert_?"

"No." Kristoff concedes awkwardly. A shrug, "But I have friends who are. And love is a powerful thing, it can change a heart."

"You have friends. Who are love experts?" Anna huffs, "I'm not buying it."

"Fine." Kristoff says, unoffended, "But you really need to march yourself into that conference room and apologize to Elsa, and stop hating yourself. If Elsa can forgive you, you should be able, too."

Anna pouts, "I really hate you sometimes."

Kristoff stands, making Anna feel like she should, too. Must be her prompt to go talk to Elsa.

She then realizes Kristoff is standing because Hans Westergaard is wandering in with Eugene Fitzherbert and Sven. Hans is wearing a most ridiculous grin and Eugene can't stop snickering.

"Success?" Kristoff says with humor. "One of the Stabbington brothers ready to go down?"

Hans pulls a set of keys out of his pocket and a huge stack of large bills, dropping it all on Kristoff's desk.

Eugene giggles deviously, "Phase one, all set!"


	17. Chapter 17

"You don't have to do this," Elsa says, almost embarrassed as blue eyes skitter across the FBI bull pen and refusing to settle on Hans or Eugene. They land fixed on a point over Hans' left shoulder, "I don't know if I can let you do this."

"Yeah, I do have to do this, doll." Eugene laughs, arms loosely gesturing toward Elsa which draws her gaze, "You're family! And besides, this is my game! No one plays it better than Flynn Ryder. No-o-n-e. So trust me. I really, really, _really_ do have to do this."

He looks so sincere.

Long moments pass with something like heavy aspects of reticent dignity. It's almost painful; Hans can practically feel Elsa's conscious waging an ethical war within, and one that their whole plan will likely to be on the loosing side of should she ponder this point of no return much longer.

It would be too bad, because Eugene hasn't been this pleased with himself in years.

Hans slides beside his wife who's dressed in a beautiful blue frock, something couture and excessively expensive, that hugs her curves in a tasteful yet seductive way and makes his blood pool warmly. Her short hair has been set in temping waves of curls Hans would enjoy thoroughly musing. Instead, he weaves a hand into hers.

It jerks her gaze to him. She looks so adorably guilty, eyes dark with worry and pondering this underhanded and (illegal) plan and she's got no reason to be guilty. Hans almost grins, but a latent sense of something like self-preservation kicks in.

"You heard Agent Bjorgman earlier." Hans says, leaning on anything he can to legitimize this for her. While reminding her of the consequences of inaction, "We can't let things continue and wait patiently. It leaves you and Anna in too much danger. Let old Flynn Ryder stir the pot."

 _"The problem with the law isn't that the law is an ass,"_ Elsa has said once, years ago during a brilliantly quarreled debate with Hans, back when her spell was first cast upon him in a lecture hall. Hans was so lost, even then. His response should have been something mocking to the fact she was quoting Charles Dickens in a tone of voice that indicated she was being entirely serious or perhaps raise an eyebrow as he affected nonchalance. Instead he supplied, _"It is that the law is an inconsistent ass."_

He refrains from saying any of that in this moment. It hold true, regardless.

Elsa frowns now, as she did then, eyes meeting Anna's. Anna nods with encouragement, thrill of it all obvious in her smile. Elsa finally looks at Eugene, says curtly, "You get a week."

Eugene giggles, a sardonic little laugh that the man should be embarrassed for. The flash of white teeth says he's clearly not.

"Do you need anything else from me right now?" Elsa adds, and managing with only slight irritation.

Eugene gives a firm shake of his head, "Go home with Anna. Tell Rapunzel it's a go. Rest. And trust me." That last part is said rather sing-song.

Elsa rolls her eyes, but lifts up on the balls of her feet and plants a soft kiss to Hans' cheek before whispering to him, "Don't get yourself killed. And I expect you home for dinner tonight."

"Yes, dear." Hans hums, pressing chaste lips to her temple. He stands silently watching as his wife walks briskly out with Anna in tow. He's ridiculously pleased because the way in which Elsa practically purred _I expect you home for dinner_ sounded nothing like interest in dinner.

* * *

 

Kristoff eyes Eugene warily, handing over a bulletproof vest, "Do I want to know what you are using that for?"

"Personal protection." Eugene says. "I feel very unsafe, what with all the violence reported lately in the papers and directed at my family."

Hans keeps his expression carefully neutral and unrepentant as Kristoff hands another to him. He says to Kristoff, "So true. Given the almost daily melancholy announcements of killings that are now disgracing the country, and the fact murderers are permitted to walk quietly away and defy the law, have induced me to wear one as well."

Kristoff looks like he's tasting something rotten. "Don't do anything to get locked up."

"Where's the fun in that?" Eugene says.

Kristoff crosses his arms tightly across his chest, looking between Hans and Eugene, "And don't kill him."

"Now that would be fun," Hans says. "But this is a do-it-yourself gig."

"The full treatment," Eugene says. Good grief the guy is practically giddy. "My Detroit hook-up knows a great mover, and I even set up a lab because Hans said my three favorite words."

"I love you?" Kristoff says wryly. "I knew you boys were close, but - "

"Money's no object," Eugene drawls flatly.

Hans can't help but grin. Because it's true. As long as he has Elsa, and she's safe, money is no object.

* * *

 

It's the next morning and Hans is in front of his brother's apartment building wearing the vest under his suit. He's not particularly worried, Harold has preference for the drive-by method. He's not the kind who's gonna shoot a fella out in the open, not in such a nice neighborhood, when he couldn't get away.

Especially his baby brother. Dad would be furious.

Hans watches Harold leave - Harold eyeballs him - and Hans tails him. Harold tries to loose him in the hustle of morning foot traffic. It wasn't hard to keep up with him until he gets tired of playing games and gives up, finally heading into a breakfast joint. Hans follows him in and takes a seat at the opposite end of the counter. Harold sneers. Hans does the crossword. It's almost too easy.

The pattern pretty much remains the same for the day, occasionally Hans checks in with Elsa, and touches base with Eugene about his progress. Whenever Harold goes into some enclosed space, Hans just hangs back and waits for him to emerge. Twice Harold tries to shake Hans off his tail by using this to his advantage, but Hans Westergaard didn't get to where he is today because he's pretty.

Harold has dinner at a supper club. It's a nice joint, rich mahogany and leather - beautiful girls and a great band. Hans sits at the table behind him. It makes Harold very, very twitchy. Harold spends hours trying to network and work deals and keep an eye on Hans. Sure it is petty vengeance, but it kept him occupied and so it's useful.

It's around midnight when the dame Harold is trying to pet gets up to powder her nose and so he scrapes his chair backwards, into Hans'.

"What's your problem, Hans?" Harold spits.

"Elsa Westergaard," and oh, does that taste so sweet on Hans' tongue.

"She's sick. She deserves to be in the asylum," Harold's smile is malicious. "Where they can help her. Would hate for anything awful to happen to her in her...condition."

"That's the thing, Harold. I don't appreciate my bride being violated like that." Hans says. He calmly rises, knocking knuckles to the tabletop. "While she might play by rules, I don't."

"Feds won't let you harass me. Dad won't, either."

"Me? Harass? I'm just having a drink," Hans says, smiling peacefully at him.

Harold rises and is stupid enough to take a swing at him, which is great; Hans ducks it easily, grabbing his arm, and holds him against the table with just enough force to hurt.

"I am watching you, Harold," Hans says softly. "You hurt mine. And I do have an awful lot of FBI buddies. I have a lot of friends all over."

"What're you gonna do, give me a chance to confess?" Harold sneers.

"Nope. You had that chance," Hans says as two bouncers approach through the crowd. "No take-backsies. See you around." Hans steps back, raising both hands at the bouncers. "I was just leaving."

Outside, in the chilly night air, Hans takes a walk. Currently there has been some inner squabbling among his brothers - mostly due to his dad's failing health and the fact the oldest, Caleb, is an inept buffoon who couldn't even sling feces in the right direction of a problem. Slow with numbers, lacks all forms of common sense. Given that, it shouldn't take long for the implosion and for Harold to hand over access to Weselton.

By the time Hans wanders in to the Governor's mansion it's well past two in the morning, but Eugene is just shuffling down towards the kitchen.

"Good ‘old Ryder. Make me smile." Hans greets.

"Smile away," Eugene says. "The security on Harold's place was just stupid. One deadbolt and two dogs."

"Dogs give you any grief?"

"Oddly, they were busy with the soup bones I gave them," Eugene replies. "His closet's been treated with the rash powder.  Can’t wait for him to start scratching and itching, mysteriously.  And I have audio in two rooms, eyes on the foyer, just in case. We owe Techie Taran a hundred bucks, by the way. He gave us a discount on equipment when I explained the situation."

"Yeah? You wouldn't think a fella who did time for illegal wiretapping would be that amenable to Feds," Hans says leaning into a doorway as Eugene pours himself a glass of milk from the icebox. Hans raises an eyebrow at the glass.

"For Rapunzel."

"Ah."

"Anyway, people get weird about a wife," Eugene backtracks to the original conversation. "He said if it was his wife, he knows we'd do her a solid."

"How is Eilonwy?" Hans asks. He always thought of Taran as a misplaced pig farmer and Eilonwy as princess...but stranger couples have been made. "She still teaching?"

"Third grade."

"Gah. You couldn't pay me enough."

"Me either, but who can fathom? You got anything more you need tonight?" Eugene asks.

"Nope. You hear back on the moving situation?"

"So, the thing is, my boys in Detroit talked to their boys in the Bronx and it turns out the New York families don't know who Harold is," Eugene says. "They know Westergaard, but not him exactly. You all blend together. No offense."

"None taken."

"So I think we can flip this to our advantage. In the meantime, there are five guys who can show up when you tell them and won't ask any questions."

"You're the best," Hans beams a wide smile. "I'm getting some sleep. Tell them to be on call starting at eight tomorrow."

Hans turns, mind already lost after thoughts of the platinum beauty waiting in his bed when Eugene asks, "Who's tailing Harold?"

"Funny thing," Hans shrugs a shoulder as he turns, "The first place he stops after leaving his apartment tomorrow, his car's going to break down," Hans says.

Eugene groans, "Not the Bentley!"

Prohibitively expensive, custom-designed marvel of modern automotive engineering that it is, "Sorry, Eugene. It's for the greater good."

"Fine, but please, please don't key the paint job."

"I promise, no keying," Hans says. He doesn't mention the painted artwork he'd commissioned for Harold's prized Bentley. No need to make Eugene weep.

* * *

 

The movers empty the apartment.  Empty it. 

The Bentley, unfortunately, does not survive unscathed from the masochist shenanigans.

* * *

 

Harold finds his bank account also emptied of every last cent, as well as his lines of credit maxed out.

 

Eugene gifts Rapunzel the most gorgeous piece of art (he's got an eye for these things), "Not sure who Rembrandt Harmenszoon van Rijn is, but I gotta say, I like his style!"

Rapunzel stares stupidly at the painting. It takes ten minutes before she can speak, "Eugene - "

"Nope. Not hot. Trust me."

Elsa's lips press into a thin line as her eyes meet Hans', "Hans..."

He won't lie. "Gift from Harold." Okay, maybe he will, when Elsa expects it of him.

She shakes her head muttering something under her breath that Hans can't catch. Not that he wants to.

* * *

The next day, the Bronx boys that Eugene found, and tipped off about Harold trying to get a stronghold in their turf, invite Harold to a sit-down. One that results in a broken rib, laceration to the head, and a split lip - and no chance of ever saving face. Figuratively or literally.

* * *

“Fine" Harold grunts through clenched teeth as Hans happens upon him in his empty (entirely bare) apartment the fifth night of the plan. "What do you want, baby brother?"

It's meant as a threat. It comes off like a desperate plea. Hans can't help but grin, "Duke Weselton's books. As many as you can get me."

Harold is horribly confused, "Hu?"

"Accounting ledgers. The real ones."

Harold shift from foot to foot, uneasy. He's too stupid to piece together for himself why Hans would want them, and Hans isn't going to shed any light on it. Harold seems to be weighing his options.

"Or you could go to dad," Hans drawls. That's not actually a viable option. Ever. All the Westergaard boys know that. It's Westergaard for 'check-mate'.

"No. Give me two days."


End file.
